


Just for you

by CertainlyHeisenberg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Non-con spanking, Pre-Series, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertainlyHeisenberg/pseuds/CertainlyHeisenberg
Summary: Sammy tries to save Dean for once.General Discipline fiction.  Wanted to include it in a story but it took on a life of its own.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean thought back to when Sammy had tried to cover him and what it had cost.

John Winchester believed that for the most part there were two kinds of punishment:  reinforcement and imparting a lesson.  This will teach you and this will remind you really amounted to the severity of the punishment.   The words: “I’m going to have to teach you _____” made Dean turn a whiter shade. It may mean that he would have to fish the paddle from his dresser drawer.  This was awful.  The belt may hurt but the paddle left a lasting impression.  Years later Dean would learn that a spanking, on the pyramid of basic needs would satisfy the need to be touched and the need to for structure.  Dean would argue that a John Winchester session with a paddle provided neither.  The humiliation of having to grab your own ankles was bad.  John offered no hug after, no acceptance of apology.  Just five words, “Think about what you’ve done.”  Then the door would close.  This exchange was worse. 

Sammy rarely got paddled and if he did he reacted similarly to any other punishment.  But Dean took this to heart.  He cried harder.  It took him longer to recover.  He acted sullen and sad.  He wanted to left alone.  He felt rejected and close to exile.  Sammy hated watching it.  He hated the weight John placed on Dean’s shoulders and the punishments that sounded and definitely were worse than his own.  As they got older, Dean seemed to get more responsibility and Sammy got more sheltered.

“Dean, when you were eight, you were taking us grocery shopping for Dad, why can’t I go myself now?” 

“Don’t know, small fry, maybe you should bulk up.” 

“Dean, Dad gave you a knife and a gun at seven, why the hell can I not practice with them.” 

“I’m a better shot.  You’ll shot your eye out.” 

When Sammy pressed questions like these Dean would say, “I don’t know Sammy, it was a fucking order and I am not putting my ass out there to get licked because you have a problem with it.” 

“Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do and die,” Sammy recited quietly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?  Can you talk like a human for once?   Maybe if you talked like a man, Dad would treat you like one.”

“It’s a goddamn poem, Dean.” 

“My point exactly.”  “How the hell are we related?” 

“Been asking myself that question, ever since you came home from the hospital… you were so cute though,” Dean would say lightly pinching Sammy’s cheeks.

But both knew the answer.  Dean protected them.  He was good at it.  When Sammy was in trouble, Dean fought hard.  The irony was that John would have probably never left them alone so much if he didn’t. 

As for the punishment, Dean could take it.  He never complained.  He almost always took the blame if there was a choice.  John Winchester could see through a lie a mile away, he could see through his son’s lie.  He let Dean take it, most of the time.  He figured Sammy would regret his actions more and Dean shouldn’t be lying in the first place.   John did not let Sammy take the fall for Dean.  Sammy had a hard time letting go of the anger after being spanked.  His hate would grow and fester if he disagreed with John, which was almost always.  Dean would take his licks, cry his tears, and feel forgiven. 

One fall afternoon, Dean found Sammy to take him home from first grade.  Dean was nervous and agitated.  His eyes were scanning everything around him with the exception of his brother. 

“What’s the matter Dean?”

“Sammy, I am in huge trouble.  I got in a fight with Avery Sinclair,” Dean was looking around and hurrying his brother down their street. 

“Dad is going to lay into me.  I am sure they have already called the shop.  Guess I am going home to clean the house and do as many chores as I can before he gets home… Fuck.”   

“You get in fights all the time… Is he still alive?”  Sammy was starting to get worried.

“You don’t understand… Avery is a girl!” 

“Oh, shit!”

“Damn right.  She was grabbing my ass and grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground.  Then I said, ‘Get away from me cunt.’”

“You didn’t!  Dad says he and girls hate that word!…What does it mean?”

“Goddamn it.  Two rules.  Two rules I have never broken.  Edicts really.  Don’t hit girls and don’t say or call a lady a cunt.”  Dean paused.  “Fuck.  I am getting the paddle aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Sammy lied.  He could hear his father… ‘Guess I need to teach you to respect girls’ and, ‘I need to teach you how to address a lady.’

“What did she look like?  Was she really gross?”

“No, Sammy, no.  She was actually really pretty.  Just pushy and mean.  Just tall and mean… The water works on that one too.  You’d think I pinched her ass.  Fuck that.  My body is my temple.  You get to play with Dean if Dean wants to play too.  Remember that kid.  Girls can be just as big of dicks as guys.  Don’t let anyone pressure you into anything.”  

That seemed so unfair.  Not that Dad would see it that way.  Maybe he could fix it so Dean wouldn’t get paddled at all.  How could he get paddled if Dad couldn’t find the paddle?  A plan was hatched immediately.  

“You go do the dishes, I’ll clean our room,” Sammy said quickly.

“10 4.”  Dean disappeared into the kitchen.  Sammy made the beds and cleaned as quickly as he could.  He stuffed the paddle in the back of his pants and raced outside.  Dean heard the door open and shut.  He cleaned the dishes faster, hoping he wouldn’t break anything. 

Sammy and Dean had found the knack of many skills, one of which was grave digging.  Sammy dug 10 paddle sized graves.  The paddle was placed in one of them.  The plan fell apart after that but seven year old Sammy did not care.  He opened the kitchen door feeling very good about himself.

“Damnit Sammy!  Did you take a dust bath?  You better not mess up my kitchen.  Get the fuck into the bathroom.  And then straighten up the living room.” 

Just then the phone rang. 

“Hi, Dad.  Yeah, that happened today… Okay, see you in three days.  Yeah…  I will.   Yes, sir.  Good luck, Dad.”

“Awe, man.  Three days to wonder about what the hell he’ll do to me…”  Dean shrugged.  “Wanna watch TV?”

Sammy shrugged, cleaned up and settled into the worn couch to watch TV close to his brother.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean did not notice the paddle missing because he hated touching the thing.It was always in the opposite season’s clothes.The short drawer in the winter and fall and the coat and sweater drawer in the spring and summer.

John Winchester eventually returned home, dirty, sweaty, and slightly bloody.Most of all he was tired.He rubbed his brow and explained he would have to work late and early most of the week to make up time.He sat down on the couch.The TV was turned off and the boys waited for him to talk.

“Oh, yeah.What the hell happened at school on Monday, Dean?’

“Umm, this girl named Avery grabbed my butt and I kind of threw her to the ground and told her to get off me.”

“What was that name you called her?”

Dean paused.“Dean!Answer the question.”

“I kind of called her a cunt.”

John lowered his head and rubbed his brow.John lifted his head slightly.

“Is this a girl who has a hard time at school?”

“No, Dad, I just didn’t like her touching me without… you know permission.”

“Good, boy.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t let anyone touch you in anywhere that makes you uncomfortable.I am going to let this slide, boy.But next time it stops at grabbing her hand.And we can do without the language.You call a teacher or anyone else that word we are skipping the talk.”

“Yes, sir.Thank you, sir.” 

“I’m proud of you, kid.You look out for yourself and your brother.”

“Yes, sir.Dad, did you have to wait three days to tell me, I wasn’t in trouble?”

“I’m tired, Dean.Make us some dinner and we can talk more.”

“Yes, sir.”

John went to the top of the fridge to find a bottle and poured himself a whiskey and headed outside.

Sammy who had felt pretty great about Dean not getting it, now turned a little pale and shook slightly.

“DEAN!SAMMY!GET OUTSIDE, NOW!”

Sammy raced outside and saying, “I’m sorry!It was me!”Dean followed saying, “Dad, it was my fault!”Dean looked around and said, “Wait, what did I do?What the hell is that?”

The Winchester family was staring at many small rectangular graves that had littered the backyard.John took back the drink he had intended to enjoy slowly. Wiping his mouth with sleeve and setting the empty glass on an old chair, he looked straight into his youngest. 

“SAMMY!Start talking.”

Sammy stood awe struck.He had not thought this far ahead.He had forgotten where he hidden the cursed object.Sammy kicked the dirt and looked at the ground.

“I sort of… hid the paddle when I thought Dean was in trouble…”

“Go dig it up!”

“I sort of… forgot where I put it…”

John Winchester had had enough for the day.His boss was angry he missed work for another family emergency.The goddamn werewolf had almost bitten him and had struck him in the leg with a pretty sharp stick.He was tired and had no patience for his little boy who looked at him as a villain.John grabbed the glass that previously held his whisky and shattered the thing against the side of the house.Both boys jumped. 

“Do I have to do this?Dean, you look at the holes.Where is it?”

Dean squinted and surveyed the back yard.“Oh, that one!By the green can!”

John grabbed Sammy by the neck of his button up shirt and bodily pulled him over to the hole.Sammy had to walk on tiptoes to keep up and not choke.Then John let go and propelled him toward the grave.“Why is it this one boy?”

“Because of the can?”

John did not even acknowledge the answer.“Dean!Tell him.”

Dean walked over to the hole.“The dirt is more compacted on this one.You probably stomped it down.And from the look of the sides, it’s deeper.”

“Dig it up and bring it back to your room.Wait for me there,” John said exasperated. “And clean the damn thing.”

John and Dean went inside.Sammy got to work.

There it was.Covered in dirt and chipped by the shovel, it was still frightening.Dean had left.He had certain feelings about the thing he did not want to visit.Dean stayed in the kitchen and made dinner.Which at this point was making mac and cheese and throwing can of chili in it.John sat slumped at the kitchen table.He held a glass of water with both hands and seem to look into it for answers.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sammy carried the paddle by the handle up the stairs unnoticed.  He took the thing to the bathroom and washed it off in the bathtub.  He used his towel to dry it off and placed it on the dresser.  He took a seat on his bed and stared at it.  He tried to reason whether or not he would feel injustice at the hand of the thing or whether he actually deserved it. 

He knew he did not want it to happen but that was the point wasn’t it?  Sam felt that physical punishment was an insult in many ways.  Did his father really feel like the only way to make himself heard was to beat them?  Did his parents feel like they needed to beat him?  How many generations of parents used this flawed logic to inspire fear and inflict pain in the name of gaining respect?

Eventually Sammy got too bored or too agitated to look at it.  He closed his eyes and laid back in his bed.  It took about an hour for John to heave his weight up the stairs to talk to his son. 

“This is how this is going to work.  We are going to talk this out.  I am too tired to do anything else. Know that I expect you to be down stairs in the living room at o’ six hundred hours.

Now, tell me in your words, why the hell you buried the damn thing.”

“I was scared for Dean.  He hates getting paddled and I didn’t think he deserved it.”

“We agree there.  Now, why did you not think you could tell me that?”

“I didn’t think you would listen.  I always say that I don’t think we should be punished.  It happens anyway…”

“Sammy, I am trying my best to raise you right.  To teach you to be good men and to survive.  It is my decision, but you should try to talk me before throwing yourself into the line of fire.  It is true that I do not want you boys beating up on girls or boys but I realize that there are times when you will have to.  Your daddy loves you and does not want to treat you unfairly.”

“Okay Sammy, this is what is going to happen.  Tomorrow is teacher work day so you and Dean will weed and reseed the back yard.  Before that at 06:00, you will meet in the living room for your punishment.  Then this weekend I will teach you how to sand this thing down and put another coat of varnish on it.  Then we will repeat the punishment you get tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Sammy, you tore up the backyard and buried the damn thing.  What’s worse is that you thought you could trick me by digging all those holes.  I really do not want you to ever do this again.  Goodnight, Sammy.  See you in the morning.”  John closed the door and went to bed.

 

 

Sammy appeared in the living room at 6 am.  John was already there, dressed and ready for work.  “Drop ‘em, Sammy,” John patted his knee.  Sammy walked slowly over to his father.  He undid he jeans and John laid the boy over his lap. 

“I am guessing you know why we are here.  Why are you getting this spanking, Sammy?” John landed a slap on the seat of Sammy’s bottom.  “Ow!  For hiding the paddle. Ow!”

More slaps followed and Sammy, who swore this time he wouldn’t, began to cry.  “And what are we not going to do?”  This time the slaps were harder.  “Dig…Ah! Holes in the  ow. Backyard?”  Three hard blows to his thighs.  “DAD!”  “And?”  “I’ll talk…Ouch!  To you before I Ow… Uh… when I feel something is unfair!  Ow!  Please Dad!”

John continued to make his point with even and metered slaps.  When he was done Sammy was sobbing. “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry, Dad!”

“Okay son, put your hands on the back of the sofa.”

“Dad?”

“NOW.”

Sam did what he was told, trying not to trip over his jeans, then braced himself.  He was not angry any more.  He was sorry and he wanted this to over.  Sam knew Dean could hear.  The walls were thin and the doors thinner. 

The paddle itself was about the width of John’s hand and was long as his calf.  It was as thick as John’s pinky and made of one piece of hardwood.  Making the thing light enough to wield easily and long enough that its targets were hard to miss. 

“You’re getting ten now and ten later, Sammy.”  Sammy sniffed and put his head down in a slight nod. “Go ahead and count them, Sam.”

John used just one hand.  He tapped the boy to get his aim and get Sam’s attention.  John drew the paddle back and hit the boy at arch that pulled his feet off the ground. John wanted to get this over with and did not give Sam much chance to breath in between strokes.

“One! Ah!  Two!  Three!  Ouch!  Four!  Dad.  Five!  I’m done! I’m, Ow!  Siiix!” Sammy choked on his cries. John stopped.  “Breathe, boy.  Almost done.”

Sammy took a deep breath, that was taken away by “Seven!  Eight!  Ow!  Nine!...Ten!”

Sam let himself fall on the back of the couch.  “Alright, boy, I have to go.  Listen to your brother and I want that yard done by the time I get back.  No excuses.”  Then John landed a final slap on the boys behind, making him jump. “Dad!  … Yes, sir.”

“Good boy, see you tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

The paddle leaned against the couch.  

Sam pulled his jeans up slowly and rolled himself over the couch.  He just wanted to lay there and feel sorry for himself.   He knew his friends never got this kind of treatment.  The honors classes they put him in where filled with kids whose parents had high expectations and would rather ground their children and force them to study more than lay a hand on them.  Sam and Dean knew to never talk about what happened at home.  The tough discipline, weapons training, salt lines, and absenteeism of their father were not anything the general public could swallow without sending Sam and Dean away. 

“Why’d you do it, Sammy?  You know I can take it?  Why did you do something that crazy?”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Loser.”

“Dean, I just didn’t want you to get punished.”

“Now that’s just insulting kid!  You think I’m so weak I can’t take a few licks?  Don’t worry about me.  I’m like twice your size!”

“I know you hate it.  The paddle.”

“No one likes to get whacked in the ass, well I did see this video over at Joe’s and the girl looked like she was trying to like it…  Anyway, I can handle myself.  I know how to stay out trouble.  I also know how to get in it,” Dean smiled.  “Seriously stay out of it or next time I may have land a few licks of my own!”  Dean said tickling Sam gently.  Sammy laughed and then howled as he rolled slightly on his sore bottom.

Dean backed up and shook his head.  “You poor kid… What the hell else do you have to do?”

“WE have to weed the backyard and seed it before Dad gets home.  Then I have to sand it down and varnish it.  THEN I get to appreciate my work when Dad paddles me AGAIN.”

“Damn it! I was going to go over to Joe’s today… I’ll help you.  I cannot believe you broke the backyard!  Man!  How did you do that so fast?”

“Grave digging.  One of the skills Dad lets us practice whenever we want.”

“I’ll get you some cereal.  You rest that sore ass.  Hopefully it heals before you have to do it all over again,” Dean said shaking his head.  Dean was proud of his little brother.  He did not envy his fate though.   Dean tripped over the paddle as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Damn it, Sammy!  You could have warned me!  You have to put it away!  I’m not touching it!”

“Dean!  Really.  It’s not cursed.”

“You got whacked with it last.  You put it away.  Those are the rules,” Dean said firmly.

“You can kind of be a baby sometimes, Dean.”

“Shut up!”

Sammy smiled.  At least he felt a little older.  He rolled himself, carefully, off the couch.  His bottom was still warm and aching.  Then carried the paddle up the stairs feeling far braver than Dean at the moment.

After the paddle was back at home in the coat drawer, Sammy skipped down the stairs.  Dean had breakfast ready for them.  “Come on, Champ.”   Dean handed him a bowl. 

Sammy ate his breakfast upright and the two decided to yank the weeds early before it got to hot.  Both notes on both the outside doors had not escaped Dean’s attention, “Dean, Help your brother with the backyard.  You owe him one.”   Sonofabitch!  He was on the hook for it too. 

Sammy was useless when it came to yardwork. 

“Dean?  Is this a flower or a weed?”

 “Sammy, for the last fucking time.  If it does not look like grass throw it in the bag.” 

“Dean!  Can you just look?”

“Sammy for fucks sake!  DOES IT LOOK LIKE GRASS?”  Dean was tired of repeating himself.

“Fine, your funeral.” 

“Wait, what?”  Dean peers over at the flowers Sammy is yanking out.  “Shit!  Stop.  I think… I think that’s a…?  What the hell is it?  Dandelion?” 

“It’s a marigold.  What is this?”  Dean looks over Sammy’s shoulder.  “It looks expensive and gross.”  It was an elaborate silver crucifix which was seemingly entangled into the roots of the flower.  The intricate detail made both boys shutter at the wounds and look of pain on the broken Christ.

“I like it.  I reminds me of God, you know?”  Dean rolled his eyes.  At this point in his life, God and Santa Claus were on equal footing in terms of being actual creatures.  “Go ahead.  Make sure you show it to Dad.  And stop tearing up the damn flowers.”


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they had finished half of the weeding the sun was high in the sky and the afternoon heat was being to set in.  Dean and Sam were hot and sweaty.  Dean was getting tired of cleaning up after yet another one of Sammy’s messes.  He kept it quiet as he was the reason for this particular infraction of the Winchester code.  Dean also knew that because the paddle had been brought up, buried, dug up, used and carried around, his father would probably not think twice at using it to make a point.  He had kind of wished Sammy had burned it. 

These thought and the passing time, convinced Dean that he should try and work harder to finish the task.  Sammy was doing some work and a lot of staring at his new necklace. 

“If you are not going to work, go inside and get us some water, Sammy.”

Sammy nodded and trotted inside.  He started washing his hands.  After he was done he made a quick sign of the cross.  Scratched his head and filled up some glasses with tap water.

“Hey Dean why don’t we go to Mass ever?”

“What the fuck do you know about Mass?  We are not and have never been Catholic…”

“I don’t know, I just feel like we should go.  Maybe someday.”

“You are being weirder that usual.  You okay?  Did Dad miss your ass and whack you in the head?”

“Pretty sure he the target.  Been feeling it all morning.”  Sammy said rubbing his bottom sadly. 

“Don’t tell Dad you want to go to church.  He’ll get pissed.  His stepdad was an even meaner Sonofabitch than Dad.  Made him go all the time.  Read him Revelations all the time.  Told him there was darkness in his heart and beat him all the time.  He told Dad that jerking off was like the worst sin ever.  Fuck that.”

“Well, isn’t spilling your seed evil, Dean?”

“No 700 club for you anymore.  And stop fucking listening to AM radio.  And really, stop touching that creepy necklace.  It’s not your Johnson, Sam.  And pull some Goddamn weeds so we can stop baking in the sun.”

Seven year old Sammy did not understand most of that conversation.  He scratched his head again and went back to work. 

It was 1 o’clock and the yard was half done.  The weeds had taken most of the lawn.  Dad had talked about pulling it all out and starting from scratch when they first moved in.  There was little option now that there were ten weird holes in the backyard.  Dean’s hands ached in the green flowered gardening gloves left in the shed by the previous renters.  Sammy kept wandering off.  Dean would pull him back and hand him a shovel.  It was like Sammy was three years old again.

“Let’s break for lunch.  Seriously we are not going to get done in time.  It’s going to be my ass and yours.  Do you even care Sammy?”

“Yeah! Of course!”  Sammy would work hard and then get distracted. 

“Just go make lunch okay?” 

It took Sammy about an hour and a half, then he came out with a beans and rice mixture.  It smelled like chocolate and peanut butter and cayenne pepper. 

“What the hell Sammy!  You have been gone over an hour!  Oh, God!  What the fuck did you do?  Is there an unholy mess in the kitchen?  If there is, Dad is not the only one beating your ass today!”

“Dean the kitchen is clean.” 

Dean poked his head inside.  “Holy shit.  It’s really clean.  Where did you get those flowers?”  The kitchen look immaculate.  There was a clear water glass with flowers at the center of their ramshackle table.  It look really a lot like a normal home.  

“They are the ones I pulled.  Marigolds.”

“What is in this Sammy?” 

“I don’t know.  Like chocolate, peanut butter, chili pepper, eggs, garlic, onion, beans, rice, cheese.”

“What the hell is with you today?  … It does smell delicious and weird.”  Dean ate a bite and then devoured the whole plate.  “Sammy this kicks ass!”

“Thanks!”

It was three o’clock.  The yard was 80% complete.  Dean did not think he could grip any more lawn tools. 

“Sammy, you finish up.  I am going to rest my eyes.”

Dean was hot, exhausted and full.  He fell into a deep sleep. 

Sammy started to clean the house.  When he got to the John’s bathroom he let out a blood curdling scream.  Dean grabbed his knife from his boot. 

Dean ran into his father’s room.  Sammy was there, screaming and holding an ancient Hustler.  “Holy Shit!  Where did you get that?”

“You!  Where do you think I got it?  I found it in our room!  Where I make love to you!  You prefer this trash to me?  I’ll kill you!  I swear!”

Dean pulled his lip in.  “What the fuck?”

Sam rolled up the hustler and began to bludgeon Dean with the publication. 

“Sammy!  Stop!  You are going to really piss off Dad!”  “I give you children!  I give you my life!  I cook for you!  You!  You cheat on me?  I will kill you!” Sam picked up a Russian fertility statue and threw it at Dean.  Dean dodged the thing but it crashed into the wall by Dad’s bed.   
  
“Holy shit!  You are so going to get it!”   
  
“I will give it you!  You lying, cheating, selfish, son of a whore!” Sammy spit this words with all the venom a seven year old can muster. Just then, Dean caught the glare of the necklace Sammy still had wrapped around his neck.

  
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!  Okay, what the fuck kind of ghost of are you?” 

“You will pay!” Sammy came at Dean with both fists.  Dean easily took him down.  Luckily they were in Dad’s room and they were next to Dad’s duffle.  Dean pulled out some rope and hog tied his brother.  Sammy was screaming in Spanish.  Dean understood some of it, most of it he wanted to write down.  It sounded dirty!   
  
Dean picked up the phone.  “Dad, you better come home.  No, you are not going to like what you find here, sorry.  Dad…It’s bad enough for me call right?  Okay… see you soon.  Love you too.”   



	6. Chapter 6

The sun still hung high in the summer sky.  Dean toiled in the backyard trying desperately to finish the weeding before his father came home.  Nagging thoughts tugged at his brain.  
  
Dean began to talk to himself.

“You know Dad, it was a crucifix.  I mean, those are like, protection and really it is not my fault.  Also, Sammy can cook! Or maybe, that was the ghost but really it would be great if we could get her to cook again…  No, that is not a good idea.”    
  
Dean did not know how, but he was sure that in some way, he would catch some sort of hell for this.

Dean heard the unmistakable slam of his father’s car door. “Fuck, Fuck, fuck… Fuck, stop cursing Dean…”  Dean muttered to himself as he collected the garden tools and headed inside.

John stood in the doorway, listening incredulously at the barrage of Spanish curse words being yelled from his youngest boy.  Dean watched as he closed his eyes, removed the baseball hat from his sweaty brow and rubbed his head.

John entered the house and looked at Dean with weary eyes.  “Boy, you understand that when I say, 'I have to make up time at work,' that aint a good thing?  Now, what the fuck is going on and how are you responsible for it?”

Dean stammered, “No, no, it wasn’t me.  Sammy found a crucifix, put it on, for like protection, you know?  Then, he started talking about mass and cooking and cleaning, then he kind of found…some adult… um material and then Sammy left the building and someone else move in…”

“Just where the hell did your seven year old brother find 'adult material,' Dean?”  
  
“It wasn’t mine! I swear!”  
  
“DEAN.”  
  
“Dad…I think it might be yours?” Dean said quietly.  
  
The older man put a hand to head and left it there for some time. His hand then flew back into the wall behind him, cracking the drywall. The pounding of his father’s hand against the wall, caused Dean to flinch as he tried his best not to cower.  
  
“I told you boys not to go into my room, my duffle or the goddamn weapons.  What part of don’t touch shit that aint yours, do not understand?”  
  
Dean growled a little.  “Sammy’s the one that found it!”

John tried to calm himself.  
  
“Let’s back up for a moment. Dean, why the hell would you let your brother put on a crucifix in San Antonio of all places?” the old man asked, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“Because holy water is really useful… and maybe I thought it would protect him… not turn him into a Hispanic lady…”  
  
“Dean you can’t make calls like that.  That spirit in there could have easily killed him or you.  You ask me before you or your brother start wearing jewelry…”  
  
Dean nodded silently.  He hadn’t thought of that.

John landed a sharp swat to the back of Dean’s pants. The pain, the surprise and the guilt caused his eyes to start watering.

“Dean, you with me?  Did you read the book I gave you before we got here?”  
  
Dean’s green eyes began to wander, “I think so…”  
  
“Dean, what is _Dia de los Muertos_?”  
  
“What? Dad. That’s Spanish. They only teach me one language at school, Dad…”  
  
John exhaled a sigh, “Day of the Dead, Dean?”  
  
“Dad! I know that! It’s awesome. It’s like Halloween but creepier.”  
  
“You did read the book on Hispanic Spiritualism that I gave you when we moved to San Antonio?” John asked but he already knew the answer.  He had considered just doling out a punishment the moment he gave the boy the damn book.  It would sure save time.  Reading assignments were so rarely completed by his eldest.  
  
“I have that! And… um… no, I didn’t really get to read all of it… But pages were really cool,” Dean said with a hopeful smile.  
  
“Did you at least try taking the damn thing off before you hogtied your brother?”  
  
“Of course! Every time I tried, Sammy screamed bloody murder and the necklace got so hot it burned my hand.  I burnt the wooden spoon trying to get it off him.”   
  
John’s fists clinched, this was not good.  Nowhere near good.  He then forced them to relax again.  “Dean Winchester. Come by anything about Santa Muertes, when you were flipping through the very important book I gave you?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Dean, tonight we are going to have to address the importance of research and obeying orders.”  
  
Dean looked down at the worn wooden floor as the color started fading from his face.  He shuffled his feet a little.  Addressing anything with his father was never pleasant.  John turned a half smile as his oldest boy accepted his fate.  Then he scratched his head as they needed to solve the more pressing problem at hand.  
  
“ _Santa Muertes_ is the goddess of death.  She is supposed to give her devotees safe passage to the afterlife. If you found the crucifix in the ground that might mean someone defiled her alter or did not follow proper alter rites to keep her here.  Come on, son.  Let’s see if we can put her to rest.  She may not want to live here if she has a problem with a Playboy..." John chuckled a little.   
  
"Um... Dad?"  
  
"Yeah, son?"  
  
"I think she has more of a problem with Hustler..."  
  
John's jaw locked and he grit his teeth a little.  
  
"You march up those stairs and get that damn book before I decide to beat you with it!" John hissed in his 'seriously, don't fuck with me, boy' voice.  
  
"Yes, Sir!" Dean said as he scampered up the stairs, barely feeling the steps beneath him.


End file.
